desperately hoping. . .

I take deep breaths. I think of you.  I look forward to feeling the warmth of your body against mine.  I image your supple lips pressed against my forehead, your calloused hands, grazing the small of my back, welcoming me into your arms, embracing me and not wanting to let go anytime soon. I imagine your love for me is as deep as mine is for you and that we share this feeling of hope, that our lives will come together, some day, at some point, when it is all right, and when we are both ready. I image we both cherish every waking minute with each other—that I am forever engraved into your soul, heart and mind, as you are in mine.  I want to believe that my presence lightens your eyes and brings comfort to you.  I imagine you want to love me, even if you are afraid to do so.  I imagine when you look into my eyes, you are enamored with love, that when you come up from behind me and wrap your arms around my body, you can’t help but embrace every last ounce of me. I imagine that when I’m gone, you miss me—that every time I call you, ever time I seek you out, your heart flutters. You are so very independent right now.  As I am, myself. But you are more so.  Perhaps a day will come when this is not the case—when the pieces of the puzzle will fit perfectly.